


A Night to Remember

by unpopularmyth (Chrysander)



Series: Wild Horses [1]
Category: League of Legends
Genre: Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Internalized Homophobia, Intoxication, M/M, bicurious, unprepared entry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:55:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22104433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chrysander/pseuds/unpopularmyth
Summary: A week after Burning Tides, T.F. and Graves find themselves in a small fishing village looking to lay low for a while. Lay really, really low.[A revision of 'Wild Horses']
Relationships: Malcolm Graves/Twisted Fate
Series: Wild Horses [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1591066
Comments: 2
Kudos: 56





	A Night to Remember

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Wild Horses](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7875610) by [unpopularmyth (Chrysander)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chrysander/pseuds/unpopularmyth). 



> So I wanted to revisit this now that I have some idea of what I'm doing. I want to expand Wild Horses to be structured more like A Discourse For Lillies. That is a series of works centered around my favorite gay pirate cowboys. I hope you enjoy the revised first installment! There is more to come with these two, I promise.
> 
> [Music: Wild Horses (The Sundays) Cover by the Rolling Stones  
> Honey Whiskey by Nothing but Thieves]

It has been a week since the scuttling of the Dead Pool, since their reconciliation and since the burning of a large portion of the port town, now infamously called the Burning Tides massacre. They were in a pathetic little fishing village called Pirth, south of Mudtown on the mainland, a shy way north of the Serpentine Delta. It was a poor village, with no one to swindle, so T.F. collected what money he could from the sleight of hand tricks and minor magic gags to entertain some of the port-men. If some purses were swiped from these gentlemen, it was merely by coincidence, surely. 

The folks in the town were wary of their presence due to the massacre, though there had been yet any to confront them or ask them about the incident in Bilgewater. Whispers of mistrust behind cupped hands and hushed tones they think he couldn’t hear. Mistrust in river men, and it was no wonder, with the delta so close, and the river beyond it. Whatever. Their wariness worked out just fine for the two of them. After spending a few days napping amongst the trees on the outskirts of the village, T.F. had finally got enough money for a room for them to share. 

There was something to be said about the craftsmanship of the only tavern and inn in the village. It was an old building, the oldest in the village, built long ago with thick, sturdy hardwood. The walls were insulated with cob, and the doors were sturdy. The upkeep was nearly immaculate, as it was the town of Pirth’s prized jewel. 

T.F. got an ear full of the stories about the Inn being an old estate home of a retired Freljordian noble warrior, but the claims were unsubstantiated. T.F. could tell the centerpiece of the inn, the Troll skull above the mantle, was a fake. Though not because he’d been anywhere north of the Iron Spike Mountains. He’d seen the technique before, crushing bone meal and mixing it with white clay to make a sculpture that was nearly indistinguishable from true bone. Joining Malcolm at the far end of the tavern by the stair, he sunk into the rickety chair, giving a sigh to the state of dress and the smell of his clothes. The fish stink had died down, but not by much. 

“Can’t wait to get a damn bath,” T.F., Tobias, muttered as a waitress left a couple of pints of ale for them, wrinkling her nose at the stench from the gambler. He had shot her a charming smile, but it faded at the look on her face, Tobias sighed and sipped from his ale. 

Malcolm Graves laughed at the sight, “Not even yer looks can save you from that stench, T.F. hoooeeyy!” This earned an eye-roll from Tobias and he shrugged, “Only a minor set-back.” He insisted on Malcolm’s teasing.

“Anyway, I’m gonna head onto the room,” T.F. announced, getting back onto his feet and fixing his hat. “Yer comin?”

“After you air out the room a bit, sure!” Malcolm guffawed again, and that was when T.F. decided it was time to go. 

Damn asshole.

* * *

Tobias had washed first before soaking his clothes with vinegar in the bath, wincing at the sting the vinegar had on the cut the dagger made. It wasn’t the best for the fine material, but anything else could be worse. After letting them soak, he scrubbed them with the goat milk soap that was provided. He was still going at his boots when Malcolm came in with two pints, setting them down on the table provided in the room. 

There was a click of the man’s tongue as he stared at what Tobias was doing, “Godamnit T.F., didn’t think I was gonna need it when you were done?” Shoving off the poncho, he draped it over the back of one of the chairs, kicking his boots off in the process, gun holster too, not that the holster did any use for him now.

Ignoring him, he continued to scrub away, “The tub was open,” He says slyly, grinning at the look on the outlaw’s face, “Besides, won’t make any difference if you bathed or not, you’d smell like a horses ass each way.” He had to dodge the swipe at him, dropping the boots back into the water just to keep the towel from falling down. 

“Prick,” Malcolm shot off but didn’t try hitting him again.  
“Asshole,” Tobias shot back.

There was a heartbeat where Tobias thought Malcolm might reconsider their arrangement, but instead, he turned away and walked out, “I’m goin to the bar,” He announced, putting his boots back on as he left the room and the two pints behind.

* * *

He’d squeezed as much water from his clothes as possible before letting them set over the window frame. Still in just a towel as he watched the folks down in the town as he sipped at the second pint, the light of twilight was settling. Scratching at his growing out a beard, he moved away from the window and went back to the washbasin to use the mirror. 

Tobias had always been a looker, but his face wasn’t perfect. Not anymore anyway. His nose had a slight crook in it from when he got it broke in a bar fight years ago. He’d been so pissed, he bitched about it to Malcolm for a week. There were other imperfections, subtle ones. The nick on his top lip, the one on the corner of his left eyebrow. Neither noticeable until one was up close. He was looking a bit scraggly, but without a proper barber, he’d have a hard time maintaining the beard. So after finding a razor in the drawer of the vanity, he used the shaving paste to shave the entire thing off. It was a shame, but he’d rather not look completely like a vagabond.

His pants were mostly dry by the time he had to light a candle to see, Malcolm was in the bath now, bitching about something. Pretty drunk, he was, but it was amusing to hear him bitching. Apparently there was a game of darts down in the back room of the tavern. Tobias made a note of this for later. For now, he lay in the bed listening to Malcolm, giving him a hard time for losing, which spurred a threat from the outlaw but no real act of violence. 

It didn’t take long for him to fall asleep like that, only waking when Malcolm slipped into the bed with him. The smell of ale on his breath, Tobias stiffened when his old partner wrapped his arms around him, muttering something into the pillow before going still. T.F. stayed frozen there when he realized that Malcolm had gone to bed in just the towel. With a click of his tongue, he shifted to look for the man’s pants, but the burlier man just pulled him back down and grunted, “Go t’sleep, damn it.”

How could he sleep like this? With the bigger man pressed against him like this. Where had this come from anyway? He couldn’t ever recall Malcolm being cuddly like this the last time they were partners. 

_(“Ten damn years in the Locker! Know what that does to a man?”)_

It changes a man… 

Guilt swam back up to the surface, and he shut his eyes against it. He instead listens as Malcolm’s breathing settles into the rhythm of sleep, the skin of the back of his neck prickling at the hot, ale tainted breath hits it, tickled by the man’s full beard brushing against it. Malcolm was damn warm against his back, a man just enough smaller than him that his face was buried in the back of Tobias’ hair and neck, and the rest of his body was spooned cartoonishly against him. The man’s lack of height compared to him wasn’t so hilarious as it was right now, and Tobias couldn’t help but grin. He doesn’t open his eyes as he shoves down the wave of guilt in him, he wouldn’t give it the attention it desired from him. Nor does he acknowledge the arousal in his pants at the constant, steady breath on his neck.

When sleep takes him, he doesn’t even notice.

* * *

Tobias was playing darts the next evening, goading the local drunkards to bet their hard-earned coin. Naturally, he would win, but he had to draw it out, rack up money at a steady pace without stomping on the locals. Winning easily would only discourage the fishermen. So he drank while he threw darts, and when the last of the men had bowed out, he took his winnings and found Malcolm at the tables. 

Slumping down onto the table, he threw the coin purse in front of his partner, a sly grin of triumph on his face. “Too easy.”

“No kiddin,” He scoffed, rolling his eyes at Tobias, “Did you get anything done today?”

It was the gamblers turn to scoff, gesturing to the coin, “You?” 

Malcolm pulled out a sizable revolver. It wasn’t the best craftsmanship, standard six-shooter rounds. From where Tobias was sitting he could see some moon-clips tied to Malcolm’s gun-belt. It wasn’t the weapon of choice for the man, but it would do. They could leave at any time, now. “Need to get me some cards,” Tobias commented only for Malcolm to put a lightly worn deck in front of him, earning a soft chuckle from the riverman.

He opens the deck, takes out the first card, and weaves it through his fingers like second nature, “That’s what I’m talking about,” it would take a little bit of time to get the cards accustomed to his magic.

“Yer welcome.”

* * *

The night had worn on enough that they took their drink to their room, it was quiet for some time as Tobias stared at Malcolm from across the room, thinking of the night before. Shuffling the cards in his hand, flipping one through his fingers like a dance before it would disappear back into the deck. The pint in front of him was his last since they took to the room, he’d had two more before, while Malcolm was nursing his fourth. Tobias knew Malcolm was long from done drinking, but the riverman was at his limit. Damn near shy of sloshed, and he had no plans to be, so he’d had enough.

Slipping the top card off the deck, he places it down. A two of Hearts. Huh… 

Perhaps it was the alcohol, or some other pent up bull shit brought on from last night, let loose from inhibition. Or perhaps his next words were just going to be a simple mistake. 

“Y’ever been queer curious?”

“What?” Came the gruff response, and Tobias wondered if Malcolm was going to pretend he didn’t just say what he did. “I never goddamn think about that shit. Got more important shit to keep me busy.”

“Like?”

“What do you think?” The tone was sharper than steel, and it reminded Tobias of the feud. Right. That would have taken precedent over curiosities and sex. 

“Ah…” Made sense. There was no wash of guilt this time, probably because of the booze. Silence settled between them again, with only the shuffling of cards breaking it. The last pint he’d been working on was almost gone, he nurses the drink again, barely feeling the bite of alcohol go down.

_(“They did things to me that would’ve driven most men mad.”)_

“You’re no virgin, Malcolm,” It was out of his mouth before he could take it back, and he flinched at himself for its crudeness.

“Fuck no. I’ve had my fair share’ve cunts. Y’fuckin asked me if I’ve fucked a man, the answer is fucking no.” 

The bite in his voice quieted the riverman, and he set down the card in front of him, it was another two of Hearts. Tch. No kidding. Slipping the card back into the deck, he reshuffled it, good and thorough before drawing the top card again, placing it down. Again, two of hearts. 

With a click of his tongue he reshuffles one more time, concentrating this time, he pulls another card before placing it on the table. It was a seven of Hearts. He places another one down; three of Clubs. Another; Six of Hearts. 

And the last, two of fucking Hearts.

Sometimes the cards knew better than he wanted them to.

The silence clung in the air between them, the riverman finishes his pint and sets it down decisively. Stacking the cards on the table, swinging his boots around as he stood, rolling his shoulders as he closes the distance to Malcolm, who is staring at him. Tobias’ heart in his ears as he slips his jacket off, watching gaze that follows his hands as he drapes the jacket and satchel on the end of the bed. 

Kicking off his boots, he moved to straddle on Malcolm’s lap. The outlaw leaned back, allowing him room, “Tobias. What th’fuck you doin?” He grunted.

“Relax, partner,” Tobias says in that silky voice he usually pulls on the ladies, it earns a quirk of the burly man’s brow. Malcolm drags his cigar, turning to spit a bit of tobacco out. Flicking the ash into the empty pint on the end table.

“What makes y’think I’m okay with this?” His tone is even, much more steady and sober than Tobias, but there’s no hate in his tone. Curiosity, more like.

“If you weren’t, Malcolm,” Tobias rocks his hips down into his partner’s, “You’d have given me a black eye already.”

“I’d give y’more then that.”

“Heh… Ain’t it the truth,” A part of Tobias is relieved that he’s not rebuffed for his advance. The bold get the biggest payoff. Only Tobias has no idea what he’s doing, so he decides to start with something simple. Malcolm is staring up at him, sky blue meeting his own. The expression on Malcolm’s face is complicated, and Tobias has a feeling his partner is thinking of Bilgewater. 

Malcolm’s gaze doesn’t leave his face, like he’s admiring his beauty. On a whim, he leaned in for their lips to meet, only for Malcolm to turn his head away, “None of that, Tobias.”

A soft laugh that was more disappointed then he intended it to sound. It was just like Malcolm, though, to deny that measure of intimacy from him. What came over the riverman to try it anyway, he had no clue. Too much between them. Too many years of hate. Or maybe Malcolm just didn’t want to kiss the man grinding against his dick.

“Alright, but from what I heard, you dunno whatcher missin,” Playing off the disappointment with a wide, jovial grin. Tobias slipped his hat off finally, hanging it on the bedpost next to Malcolm’s head. Grabbing the backboard, he doubled down on grinding down into the shorter man, languishing each rotation of his hips. All the while Malcolm puffed on his cigar, watching him as Tobias made the man’s dick hard in his pants. 

Tobias gives a soft groan, staring back as he gets lost in what he’s doing.

* * *

Malcolm had seen Tobias drunk many times, but this was something he’d never seen the riverman do. He had to wonder how many pints he had before Malcolm had their drinks brought upstairs. The gambler wasn’t bad, Graves had to admit, though it was clear what he lacked in practice he made up for in vigor. Finishing his cigar, Malcolm put it out in his pint, resting his hands on Tobias’ hips. That earned a grin, which only widened when he rolled his hips back up into the gypsy. 

A soft sound escaped Tobias’ lips, the hunger of lust in his ocean-deep eyes that were like the water’s reflections on summer sunset. Plenty of women had surely lost themselves in these eyes that couldn’t damn well decide if they were blue, black, or some dark purple. Indigo depths, dark and foreboding like the waters the riverman couldn’t swim himself.

To pretty for his own damn good.

If Malcolm were sober he’d have a different opinion on what was happening, what they were doing, but he wasn’t. So fuck it. He was tired of the clothes between them. His hand snaked back into those tight, dandy pants, gripping the ass they belonged to. Earning a coo in response, the river man’s hands planted firmly on the headboard, doubling his efforts. This time it was Malcolm who gave a sound, a gruff, hungry moan of his own. Grave’s calloused hands cupped the cardsharp's ass, trying to snake a finger between his cheeks if it wasn’t for the damn dandy ass fucking pants.

Tobias laughed. Malcolm’s heard the riverman laugh before, but this was different. It was a light, firm sound, sultry in his throat that made it sound like a damn near purr. Too damn heated for his own good.

Goddamn.

“What you laughin at?” Malcolm growled, or else he would have groaned in need, and he wasn’t about to admit that this was the first time he had any sex since his time in the Locker.

“Malcolm, take my pants off,” Tobias teased, that cocky ass grin coming back. It was a grin that deserved to be smacked off, but this time he’d give the riverman a pass. Being so congenial, as he was.

“I’ll rip these fucking pansy fuck’s off,” Malcolm warned, gripping his ass cheeks firmly, “Make you walk around pant-less.” Naked, he almost said, but he didn’t. 

“Malcolm, just…” His tone held a twinge of curtness, annoyance maybe, “Quit talkin.”

“Tch! You tellin me? I can’t shut you up elsewise’n yer tellin me?” Malcolm’s cantankerous retort is interrupted when Tobias lifts himself up and bounces on his dick, earning a gasp of a groan, a hitch of his breath through his teeth. He damn near made Malcolm cream his pants there, that grin was back, the fucker. 

Graves unbuckled him with a level of eagerness he didn’t try to hide, yanking his pants down, gripping that ass right and proper, harshly, no doubt they’d leave a bruise on his dandy ass. Good. His finger made home, slipping into the river man’s entrance with wild abandon. Tobias groaned so hard his head hung down, hiding his beautiful face as he moaned into Malcolm’s shoulder. The outlaw could smell the castor oil and goats milk of soap in the dandy’s long black locks. Malcolm had thought to wonder just how many times he washed himself to get the smell of devilfish guts out.

When Tobias suddenly pulled away, Malcolm grimaced but released him when he realized it was only to turn around. While he was doing that, Graves removed his belt and unbuttoned his own pants, releasing his engorged member from its confines. So when Tobias settled onto him again, it was skin on skin. Malcolm’s breath hitched again as they resumed the pace the had before, precum beaded out from the head of his cock that was sandwiched between his tight ass cheeks. 

After a while Malcolm couldn’t take much more of the lap dance, repositioning his hard cock, he thrust the tip into Tobias’ entrance, pulling the riverman down onto his cock. “Ey!-AH!” Tobias cried out, gripping his arms and squirming, “FUCK! MALCOLM~AH!” Crying out again as Graves drove his cock deeper, the dry entry had to have hurt like hell. He tried to get off, but the outlaw held tight onto his hips, leaving him gasping and moaning like a virgin every time the cock drove deeper into him. “You fu-AH! Ah… hah.. Aaah! Fucking asshole!” Tobias’ voice hitched up an octave, he squirmed on Malcolm’s cock, “Why you gott-ahh. AH! Sh-shit!”

“Wouldja stop yer squirmin,” Malcolm grunted when Tobias elbowed him. He shifted them forward, keeping himself pressed firmly against the dandy river man, pressing his perfect face into the mattress, pushing the pants down more to spread his legs. Tobias gripped the comforter below him, panting and hissing, moaning into the mattress. Damn, he sounded so fine. When Tobias tried to pry his hand off his hip, he grabbed that hand and pinned it against the mattress, “Goddamn knock it off. Yer the one who asked for it.”

“Sh.. SHIT! Malcolm!” Crying out anew as Graves rocked down into him, fully sheathed into his ass now, goddamn he was so damn tight, “Sh.. Shut-AH!” 

Graves grinned when he had cut the riverman off, “Heh, what was that? Didn’t catch it.” To Malcolm's satisfaction, Tobias shuddered visibly, nails digging into the mattress, into Malcolm’s arm. The back of his neck, his back, his palms were sweaty. “Hnng… Tobias,” Malcolm’s own breath getting heady, “Damn tight,” He groaned, cupping Tobias’ ass with a calloused hand, slapping the ass cheek harshly enough to make Tobias jerk, earning another peal of a needy, slutty moan from the man. “Com’n, baby,” shoving the river man’s pants down past his knee and off the ankle of one of his legs, lifting that leg by the inner part of his thigh. “Yeah, there we go,” He growled as he drove in at a better angle, earning another rewarding little bitch sound from the dandy beneath him. 

When Tobias said his name again it was slurred into the mattress, interrupted by another moan. Finding that right spot had taken some time but now that he had it, he was not letting up. Pounding down into the man until the sound of their skin slapping together was as audible as the yelps and moans from Tobias. Malcolm had never seen the dandy, prim, sly man like this. Without slowing he reached with his free hand, moving some of those black locks out of Tobias’ face, so sweaty, drooling into the mattress enough to leave a wet spot beneath his lips. 

Hot damn, even being fucked right out of his mind looked good on him.

* * *

Malcolm had lit another cigar, sitting with his back against the headboard. Tobias was asleep next to him, not even a snore from the riverman. They had gone only one round, neither had the energy for another. Even asleep, well fucked as he was with his hair so tousled and unkempt, the riverman was a beauty. Age only served to fade his boyish features till he was more refined, chiseled, more exotic. 

Damn.

Covering his mouth, he turned his gaze away, leaning against his knee. His mind swimming, memories of his time in the Locker surfaced. Ugly and vile. They make goosebumps creep along his skin, along with other, darker thoughts. Thoughts of spite and revenge. Of making T.F. feel the things he had been made to feel those ten long years.

Make him hurt.

Shaking his head, he stands, grabbing the pints to place them on the nightstand outside the door. One of them still had booze in it. He finishes that off by the window, watching the streets while the riverman slept. No sense in adding more strife to their lives, regardless of what he went through, Tobias didn’t deserve that cruelty. So he’d keep his dark thoughts to himself.

There was enough bad blood between them. 


End file.
